by Stacy Finz
He examined her from head to toe and she was glad that she’d actually dressed this morning, instead of lounging around in her pink flamingo pajamas. Ever so slightly he turned her face up so that she was looking directly into caramel brown eyes.
“Did I scare you?” he asked, and his voice held a barely traceable tremor.
“No.” Yes. “You were just very intense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that.”
He let out a breath and scrubbed his hand over his face. “When I saw you struggling against him, I lost it.”
She pulled him into the living room and patted the couch for him to sit. “How did you find me?”
“I saw Darla at the bar. She said you were in the bathroom. I went to wait for you, heard noise coming out of that little closet area and. . . Ah, Jesus, Harlee.”
“Why did you change your mind . . . about coming?”
His shoulders hitched and he suddenly became very distracted by something outside the window. “I wanted to be with you at midnight.”
She couldn’t tell if that meant I didn’t want to be alone or I changed my mind about us. The man was all kinds of mixed signals. “Did the crowd bother you?”
“It took me about an hour to work up the nerve to go inside,” he said. “Then I saw that man touching you and nothing else mattered. I know I overreacted, but . . .”
She brushed a stray strand of hair away from his eye. He looked tired and something else that Harlee couldn’t quite read. Ashamed, maybe?
“Colin, I appreciate what you did more than you know. When you’re a reporter, you have to stand up for yourself, or no one will respect you. Even when I was in sticky situations, going door to door in a bad neighborhood to get quotes or getting creepy email threats from someone who didn’t like what I had written, I never asked for backup.”
“I don’t want to hear that,” Colin said, closing his large warm hands around her smaller ones. “Ask for backup. Always ask for backup.”
The concern she heard there made her breath stall. She felt it deep in her midsection and for a second she considered crawling into his lap and burying her face in his chest, absorbing all the goodness that was Colin. But he’d made it clear: They were strictly platonic. “Where did you go this morning? I knocked on your door until my knuckles turned red.”
“To the police station. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t killed the idiot. Chief Shepard says he’ll live, although, according to Rhys, you may have turned him into a eunuch.”
“Yeah, that,” she said, mildly embarrassed. “I was so angry that he ruined your big night. Colin, I think the acupuncture might be working.”
“Maybe,” he said, but she sensed that he was just trying to placate her. “I should go.” He started to edge up from the couch.
“My mom sold more of your stuff,” she said, following him to the door. “She wants more.”
“Then I better get to work.” He stopped for a moment to look at her, his eyes wanting and mournful, like a boy with his face pressed against a shop window, surveying all that he couldn’t have. Well, he’d been the one to put up barriers, not her.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded, then silently cursed herself for sounding pathetic, like a bottomless pit of need. Men did not find begging particularly sexy.
He closed his eyes and stepped into her. “Ah, Harlee. This isn’t going to turn out well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He should have told her right then and there. About everything—the conviction, prison, how he was on parole. But he wanted her so badly, more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life, that the words stayed choked up inside of him. When things went bad, because they would, they always did, he’d have Harlee. Or at least the memory of Harlee. Even though he knew she was only temporary, a fleeting instant of true happiness, Colin would feed off this moment forever. So he took what she offered and hoped that he would last long enough to savor it.
He kissed her against the hallway wall, rocking up against her until the hard ridge in his pants pressed against her belly. Harlee threaded her fingers around his neck and pulled his head down lower so she wouldn’t have to go up on her tiptoes. They stayed like that for a while, just kissing. Her mouth was warm and sweet and he’d never known a woman to smell so good, like soap and baby powder. His hands inched up her sweater, where he felt the smooth, warm skin of her stomach. So soft and supple that he just rested his hands there, feeling her breathe in and out. She pressed her full breasts against his chest and his blood pounded.
“Harlee, baby, let’s take this into the bedroom.”
“Okay,” she whispered, but didn’t move.
“Change of heart?” he asked, afraid to hear the answer because he was burning for her.
“Are you sure you’re into this? I just feel like I might’ve . . . you know . . . thrown myself at you. I don’t want you to feel like you’ll hurt my—”
He covered her mouth. “I’ve never been into anything more in my life. So if you don’t get moving into the bedroom, I’m gonna take you right here, against the wall.”
“You sure?”
“That I’ll take you against the wall? Yeah, I’m sure.” He covered her mouth again and murmured into her lips, “You talk too much. The only words I want to hear are ‘Oh, Colin, don’t stop.’ ”
She giggled. “Oh, Colin, don’t stop.”
“You think that’s funny? Just wait and see.” He tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, carried her into the bedroom, and tossed her onto the middle of the bed, falling down on top of her. Pushing up on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush her with his weight, he stared down into her deep blue eyes. With the light seeping through the shades, hitting the red plaid bedspread, they looked almost violet.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
She reached up and drew a line down his face, staring into his eyes, not saying anything. She didn’t have to, because it was as if those small hands, strumming his cheek, had wrapped around his heart. He lifted her sweater with his mouth, exposing an expanse of her tummy and kissed her there, licking into her navel.
“All the way off?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, just peeled it over her head. She had on a black-and-white lacy bra that extended lower than her rib cage and pushed up her breasts. “What is this thing?” He kissed the vee of her cleavage.
“It’s a cami bra. You like it?”
“Are you kidding? I effing love it. What do you have down here?” He dipped his fingers under the waistband of her jeans.
“Hopefully more good stuff.” She pushed her hands up under his henley and he sucked in a breath. “But I can’t remember. I may have opted for the granny panties this morning. You want me to check?”
“No, I don’t want you to check. Whatever you have on I plan on getting off in about twenty seconds flat.”
“Mmm.” She laid her head back as he stroked her breasts, then reached around to unfasten the clasps of her bra, or whatever she’d called it.
“I thought you liked my lingerie.”
“I do,” he said, pulling the straps down, tossing the bra somewhere on the bed and weighing each one of her breasts in his hands, studying their shape and size. “But I like these better.”
He sucked her nipples until they puckered into tight pink beads. “And these,” he hummed.
She played with his chest hair, so he tugged off his shirt to give her better access. He liked her hands on him; it aroused him even more than just looking at her.
“Take these off.” She started undoing his belt. Impatient to get out of his pants, which were growing tighter by the second, he took over.
He got off the bed and slid his Levi’s and boxers down his legs, while she watched with darkened eyes.
“Your turn.” With one flip of a button and the draw of a zipper, he had her pants and underwear pulled down and bunched around her ankles. Standing there, gazing down on her as the light filtered over her pale skin, he wondered how he’d ever gotten so lucky.
“Come back.” Harlee sat halfway up and reached out to him, kicking off the remainder of her clothes.
Colin found his wallet and pulled out a couple of foil packets, checking the expiration date. It had been a while, but apparently not that long, because they were still good. He put them on the nightstand and rolled next to her on the bed. She twined herself around him like a cat and he could feel her purr. God, she drove him crazy.
He nuzzled her neck and went back to work on her breasts, laving them with attention. She moaned and whimpered, assuring him that he was doing everything right. He’d never wanted to please a woman more than he did Harlee. She rolled to her side and wiggled against him as if she couldn’t get close enough. Colin slid his hands down her back and cupped her ass. Then he rolled her onto her back and she let him take the lead, stroking her between her legs. It surprised Colin. Harlee liked to run the show. But he liked being in charge in bed. To be truthful, he liked being in charge of everything, the residual results of a regimented decade behind bars.
Hopefully, later—if there was a later—they’d work that out and divvy up who got to be the boss of what. Anything she wanted. For now, though, he was going to rock her world. Make her see shooting stars and hear trumpets.
“Colin?”
“Hmm?”
“Please.”
“You want me inside of you?” She kissed him hard in answer, making his body tremble. He suited up and slid in, giving her time to adjust to him. “This okay?”
“So good,” she said, impatiently starting to move under him. Yup, that was his girl.
He spread tiny kisses across her forehead, nose and chin, building a rhythm that had her moaning with pleasure and shutting her eyes, heat sizzling between them.
“Open your eyes, honey.” He liked looking into those pools of blue.
She opened them, her lips forming a sensuous O that was nearly Colin’s undoing. He pumped harder and faster, urgently reaching under her bottom to pull her closer. She wrapped her legs around his waist, moved them higher so he could go deeper and deeper, giving her all she wanted. Everything he had, because she felt good. So right. So connected to him that he thought he would lose his mind.
She called his name over and over again, virtually sobbing, as her tempo became frantic. Her legs loosened from around his back and she put her feet flat on the bed. Colin pounded into her, feeling her heart rate quicken. She was almost there. He slid his hand between her damp thighs, worked her with his fingers until she shouted out, convulsing around him, coming again and again.
He thrust one . . . two . . . three times more inside her, threw his head back and let himself go.
They lay there plastered together on the bed, breathing hard and feeling sweaty. Colin got up to go to the bathroom. When he came back, he crawled back into bed with Harlee and ran his hand down her spine. She curled into him and they nodded off like that until they heard barking at the front door.
“Max,” Colin said, wiping sleep from his eyes.
“Let him in and come back to bed.”
“I should go home and feed him,” he said, leaning over the bed, searching for his pants.
Harlee glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s only three. Go feed him. I’ll shower and we’ll have an early dinner. I’m starved.”
He hitched his shorts and pants up and scrounged along the floor for his shirt. It was slung across a chair. Funny, he didn’t remember tossing it there. He pulled it over his head, sat at the edge of the mattress, took Harlee’s face in his hands, and kissed her.
“This was amazing and you’re amazing. Please don’t take this the wrong way, because the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But I need to go home, feed my dog, and think.” Think about whether he should come clean and tell her everything at the risk of ruining whatever little time they had together, before she went off to Metropolis to be Lois Lane.
“I wasn’t expecting something like you and me to happen,” he continued. “But we’re happening. And I’m great with it. The thing is, I’ve always been a solitary guy and just need a little space to reason it through. That’s all. You okay with that?”
Harlee pulled the sheet up to her chin and Colin pinched his eyes shut, girding for the worst. Tears. A punch in the face. Or “You’re a real dick, Colin Burke.” Because it sounded like a brush-off even to his ears, when all he wanted was time to contemplate what to do. How to make this right between them.
But when she flashed a tight smile and said, “Do what you need to do,” he knew exactly what he was going to do—not tell her a damn thing.
Chapter 16
Colin didn’t come back that night and Harlee wound up reheating leftovers for New Year’s dinner. Darla, Griffin, Connie, and Wyatt had all called to make sure she was okay. Honestly, she hadn’t given the imbecile who’d attacked her a second thought. All her energy had been focused on Colin.
Colin. What was she getting herself into with him? The man was a claustrophobe, a demophobe, and obviously a commitment-phobe. But she didn’t want a commitment. Certainly nothing beyond them enjoying each other’s company until she left. Sure, if they were going to continue sleeping together she wanted exclusivity. Otherwise it would feel wrong. She wasn’t the type to have multiple partners and she didn’t want to have sex with someone who did. But Colin didn’t strike her as a player. Although, sweet Moses, had the man been good in bed. Beyond good. Spectacular. And he had a way of making her feel like the most special woman on the planet.
That couldn’t be an act. Colin didn’t do slick or smarmy. The man rarely left his damn wood shop. As far as she could tell, he didn’t even have any friends. Just Max.
Okay, the brawl at the Ponderosa had been scary. If Harlee didn’t know better, she might think that Colin had anger management issues. But he’d been protecting her. She’d appreciated him having her back and a little part of her—all right, a big part—had gotten off on it. Big burly man rescues somewhat medium-sized woman from creepy asshole.
Sue me, Gloria Steinem.
But all this “I need space to think it through” drama was giving her hives. Not to mention that she was bored out of her skull. On New Year’s in San Francisco, she’d be whooping it up. Okay, not exactly whooping it up, but going out with friends, maybe having a private dinner at a hot new restaurant where for a hundred bucks she could sample some “it” chef’s tasting menu, then go home and stuff her face with Nutter Butters because she was still starved.
God, she missed it.
What she should do is tell Colin that the sex had been grand, but she was moving on. Except that she didn’t want to move on, because she was totally into Grizzly Adams, who wasn’t even Grizzly Adams anymore. He was a hot L.L. Bean guy now, and he made her lame heart go pitter-patter. The bastard.
She padded into the kitchen and grabbed a pint of Häagen-Dazs. God, she was a cliché. Maybe she should use the time to write a few more cover letters to newspapers because, hey, she hadn’t been rejected enough. Or hop on the computer and do a background check on Jacob Silberman, her latest assignment. The guy’s bio on the website Make-a-Date was so glowing that Harlee suspected that he was really the Zodiac Killer.
While she was at it, she should run Colin too. Not that she would find much. The man didn’t drink, didn’t go to public places, and worked for himself. His house was paid for and his business was completely transparent. She knew that from working on his books. So instead of playing cyber-sleuth, she finished the carton of Häagen-Dazs and went to bed.
The next morning, Harlee decided to go into town, get Darla to trim her hair, and do a little grocery shopping. First, she swung by the Gas and Go and got out to say hi to Griffin. He had bought a few old truck benches on eBay and created a little waiting room in the garage where Darla’s dad and the rest of the old guys seemed to have made a permanent home for themselves.
In the shop, Griff ripped out a countertop with a crowbar as the radio blasted classic rock from a Reno station.
He stopped when Harlee came in and turned down the music.
“Hey,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “What’s going on?”
“Not much. I was on my way to the square and thought I’d stop by. Check out your progress.” She looked around at the mess. The floor was covered in debris from the demolition. “What are your plans for in here?”
“I’m thinking of going mini Seven-Eleven. Foodstuff, maps, sundries.”
“Sounds good. Can’t you get any of them to help you?” Harlee nudged her head at the garage and grinned.
“The Nugget Mafia?” he asked, and crossed his arms over his chest. “They just like to tell me what to do.”
She laughed. “Where’s Rico?”
“Getting lunch. You talk to Colin? Find out why he took off like that the other night?”
Harlee didn’t want to tell him about the demophobia. Colin wouldn’t appreciate it. “He said he needed to cool off.”
“I can see that. He was probably pissed that Rhys broke it up. That guy messing with you deserved to leave the Ponderosa on a stretcher.”
“He was just a drunken moron,” Harlee said, trying to downplay the whole event. “Did you and Lina patch things up?”
“Not really. She’s pretty adamant that we become a couple.”
“Aren’t you a couple?” Harlee asked, confused.
“Before she started at USF, we made a deal to wait a year. She’s only eighteen and I wanted her to put all her energy into experiencing her first year of college—not be focused on a boyfriend back home.”
“Wow, that seems pretty selfless of you.” Harlee wondered if Griffin really just wanted to play the field. The guy was gorgeous, fabulously wealthy, and a sweetheart to boot. He could pretty much have any woman he wanted.
“Yeah. Maybe too selfless. But there is an eight-year age difference between us.”
Normally, Harlee wouldn’t think eight years was too much. But the difference between eighteen and twenty-six may as well be an eternity. “I hope you’re able to work things out.”